A Mile, At Least
by ClareBelle23
Summary: Homework for this week: Sympathy. The Glee Club is slowly falling apart and the only thing that could save them is a walk in each other's shoes. But how do you save someone who doesn't want to listen? Collab piece with WeAreTomorrow.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! **

**This is a collab with WeAreTomorrow and can be found on either of our pages! Really hope to hear some feedback and, hopefully you guys like it and updates will be kind of frequent. I'm not slacking on my other stories promise! This is much more amazing than I predicted it would be, to my eyes due to WeAreTomorrow, brilliant author! **

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><p><em>Follow in my footsteps quickly now, before they fade away.<em>

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><p>Mr. Shue walked into an unusually quiet room; he paused after he had stepped only a few feet into the room. He looked around at the expressions of the twelve kids, studying them, trying to find a reason why it was hushed. He placed some books and papers on the table, sitting in front of the students. Rachel usually spoke up and prattled on about some idea, but today she just sat there, with her hands folded carefully in her lap.<p>

Mr. She stood and sighed heavily, hoping someone would speak up before he delivered the idea, which he was praying would bring them back together as a club. For weeks now, they had been slowly drifting apart and, steadily losing interest in what many had deemed a second home.

Deciding that no one was going to speak up, Mr. Shue dragged the black board in front of the group. No one's interest was perked; many just gazed into the distance. Mr. Shue finally lost his patience and slapped the board with his hand, ignoring the sharp pain that sprung across the soft skin.

Few jumped, but few really cared. Many focused their dull eyes on him, waiting for Mr. Shue to speak but not questioning why there was a board. He turned his back to them and began to write, in big letters.

"Homework," Puck yawned, "Brilliant."

That comment from Puck, made Mr. Shue bite his lip harshly, as he finished scribbling the word and slapped the chalk back down on the bench. He moved away from the board and gestured for everyone to read it, trying to diminish the annoyance that was currently streaming through his veins.

"Sympathy?" Kurt read out, raising an eyebrow questioningly. A few people murmured, seconding his question without actually saying anything.

"Commonly confused with empathy," Mr. Shue responded, "Sympathy is something we've all been lacking for one another, we don't understand what we're all going through"

"Hell," Artie supplied, "Hell is what we're all going through."

"Yeah Mr. Shue," Quinn sighed, "For most of us, it's our Senior Year. Right now the pressure is really on and with the extra boot camps and, all the homework."

"And relationship drama," Finn continued for her, glancing quickly at Rachel. She clenched up at his words but refused to turn and look at him, she just continued to gaze at the board.

"You guys have empathy for one another," Mr. Shue agreed, "But you guys don't really get what's happening with one another, do you? Sure, you feel sorry for one another, there's pressure for everyone. But you guys aren't really a team."

He shrugged his shoulder and sat down on his desk, studying them all for a minute.

"So what's the homework?" Tina asked, tilting her head towards the board.

"We're singing sounds about being sympathetic and all that walk-in-another-shoes crap?" Santana asked, jutting her jaw out slightly.

"No Santana," Mr. Shue said patiently, "We are going to walk in each other's shoes"

Silence descended across the club, but no one was staring off into the distance now. They were all looking at Mr. Shue; there expression's a mixture of annoyance, anger, boredom and curiosity.

But hey, Mr. Shue thought, at least they're paying attention.

"Mr. Shue?" Brittany raised her hand.

"Yes Brittany?" He replied, smiling at her expectantly.

"Can I not walk in Rachel's shoes, they are really small and ugly," The blond requested, wrinkling her nose up in distaste. A small rumble of laughter echoed from the students, even Rachel's cracked a small smile, despite the insult.

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><p>Mr. Shue felt himself begin to relax and realized for the first time how nervous he was.<p>

A small, jittery part of him still worried. The part that reminded him how many times they'd barely scraped by when everybody _had_ wanted it more than anything, the part of him that kept a secret watch over the bathrooms during passing time, tallying the number of times his kids got slushied.

Ask him, he knows the numbers for each of them, weekly, monthly, sorted by color and averaged by gender, popularity and sexual orientation.

The truth tastes like raspberry concentrate and it's this:

They could walk away. They might.

And what he's about to put them through will either save them or break them apart beyond repair.

"Brittany has a point."

Mr. Shue takes one look at Rachel's opening mouth and narrowed eyes and hastens to clarify.

"I want all of you to come up to the board and write your name and after that, your shoe size."

He looks at them expectantly. They look back.

This is it.

For a long, terrifyingly long, moment nobody moves. He clenches his fists and feels the urge to pray, the first time since Kurt's father had been hospitalized, what now feels like forever ago.

Mike stands.

Mr. Shue breathes again. The kids turn around to look at him, all with identical faces of surprise.

It's an accepted fact that Mike is a follower. But nothing's been normal lately.

They all look at him, expecting him to say… something. Mike avoids their curious stares, eyes on the ground, hands deep in his pockets. Obviously uncomfortable, out of place.

A realization hits him like a hard kick to the stomach.

He wouldn't recognize the sound of Mike's voice.

_Well_, he thinks to himself as he hands the chalk to the boy with a proud smile, _I can fix that_. Maybe this challenge will be good for him too. Rachel stands with her usual dramatic flair and even as Mr. Shue turns her, he notices Mike quietly take his seat, fading back into the background again.

Mike's face is blank and Mr. Shue can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Although I already know none of you will ever be able to truly appreciate my position since I'm much more talented and passionate I'm willing to let you try."

Rachel smiles brightly at them, the one where she stretches her lips too far and it looks too fake, too insecure.

In the background, he can see the other members shaking their heads. Artie, who has actually looked up and met his eyes for the first time in weeks, looks away, withdrawing back into his turtleneck. Santana's mouth is a thin quivering line, storm clouds clearly brewing.

Mr. Shue shakes his head.

This he can fix.

"Rachel, I want you to apologize to your Glee Club for that. It was untrue and completely uncalled for."

Large brown eyes blink back at him, mouth hanging open in shock. Yes, he's serious.

Some part of her must have realized that because she glances around the room uncertainly and swallows her protest. Santana folds her arms and glares, waiting.

Since Mercedes has shown up less and less, the Latino has slowly taken over the roll of Second Best.

It's not going so well.

"Well, hobbit? I is waiting."

Mr. Shue pauses just a moment too long, waiting for Brittany to step in. She doesn't. She was the only one who'd ever really been able to control the other girl, get her to back down, stop a fight before it got ugly. There're been far many of those lately, since she and Santana-

Well, he didn't know the details.

But he'd found Santana crying in the choir room one day after school. He'd tried to help but she had swung between threatening his child making abilities and screaming about cheap contact lenses.

"Rachel?"

He can see her on the verge of giving in, lower lip trembling.

She looks too young. Much too young and uncertain and scared.

Mr. Shue glares at Finn, who doesn't notice, willing him to take his girlfriend's hand, encourage her. Something. The boy's gaze is unfocused, mouth parted slightly, staring into space.

"Fine."

Internally, he winces. She sounds so lost.

But he knows this is part of the reason they're here, splintering apart so painfully. Rachel is special, yes, but spoiled. And with Kurt at Dalton, without a friend to keep her grounded, she's only gotten worse. If he's honest, it's partly his fault.

She's incredible fragile when it comes down to it and he's always been weak.

"I'm sorry."

Rachel sits and the room takes a deep breathe.

One by one, they trickle to the front and write their names. A smile here, a laugh there. Mr. Shue can feel something unexplainable start to wake up a little, thaw out. But Rachel sits stonily in her seat and says nothing, lower lip trembling.

She's his best soldier and he prays she won't be a casualty of war.

He looks down at his blackboard and breaks out into a wide smile.

_Maybe, just maybe, he can fix this._

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><p><strong>Tell us what you think, we're both dying to know!<strong>

**Did you like the mesh of our styles? The way the story is heading? Any songs your dying to hear?**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Just a little authors note : I am really interested in what everybody thinks of this story and, any suggestions? Just feedback in general._**

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><p>Mr. Shue sits there after practice, trying to convince himself that this will work. Every reassuring thought dripping through his mind, but not sticking. He looks up at the board and once again, feels hope. Hope that maybe, somehow this will work and it's not a waste of his time. He can't loose the club, he just can't.<p>

"Will?" Emma says hesitantly, standing at the door with a small smile on her face. He loves that smile, he smiles back but somehow it's a little too forced and she notices. She walks over to where he is sitting and carefully places herself in the chair beside him, looking up at the board to.

"It worked?" She asked curiously.

"Tell me I've done the right thing," He begs, his voice sounding like that of a five year old. She smiles slightly and nods, watching as relief breaks out across his face.

"I don't know what else to do," He said helplessly, gesturing towards the board.

"Who's been swapped?" Emma asks, standing up and walking over to the board, hands placed behind her back. She turns around and looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain enthusiastically about the homework, like he used to.

Emma's noticed a change in the kids, everyone has, but she has noticed a change in Will. The lack of light in his eyes and how much his passion for the club has dimmed, much like many of the students. She smiles sadly, as she watches how he looks up at the board. There's something behind his eyes, but nothing like there use to be. He stands and walks over, tapping the board.

"Rachel, much to her disappointment has been paired with Santana," He laughed lightly, "I'm not sure how it will work but-"

"Who knows" Emma smiled, shrugging her small shoulders lightly.

"Brittney and Tina, Mike and Finn, Puck and Artie, Quinn and Mercedes," He continued, "I'll have to find Mercedes and actually tell her about the homework."

"She didn't show up?" Emma asked, "Again?"

Mr. Shue just shook his head and looked back at the board, hope in his eyes once more.

"Maybe," He grinned at Emma, "Just maybe this will work."

"Maybe," She replied, "I get the whole, being sympathetic to one another but Will, how exactly is this suppose to work?"

Mr. Shue grinned over at her, a look of pure elation spreading across his face. Her heart warmed at the sight and positively soured when he explained the complicated, yet simple plan he hand. She shook her head lightly and picked his hand up, biting her lip.

"I'm proud of you, Will," She smiled.

Santana slammed her hand against the locker next to Rachel's, making the small brunette jump. Though, when Rachel's eyes rested on Santana's, she rolled her eyes and closed her locker. Saying nothing to the other girl, she turned and walked down the hall. She just wasn't in the mood for Santana right now.

"Hobbit!" Santana yelled loud enough, to stir laughter from some of the passerby's. Rachel stopped and clutched her books tighter to her chest, wishing that Finn was there at that moment but she shook the thought away. The thoughts left her head but the tears didn't stop from welling up in her eyes. Santana strode up to her.

"Look," The Latino snapped, "I don't want to do this stupid thing either but we have to."

"Obviously," Rachel muttered.

Santana's jaw tightened but Rachel ignored it; she just wanted Santana to leave her alone.

"Just leave me alone," Rachel said quickly, "Go find Brittney and leave me alone."

"That was a low blow hobbit," Santana muttered, "And you know it."

Rachel didn't reply but Santana didn't leave, so Rachel turned too, only to be, once again, stopped by Santana. She was obviously frazzled and really was hating talking to Rachel, as much as Rachel hated the conversation. Rachel was tempted to snap at her, but the look in Santana's eyes prevented her from doing nothing more than standing there.

"Coach Sylvester isn't happy about Mr. Shue's assignment, but for once she's willing to play along," Santana sighed, "So, you have to go to Cheerio's practice, after school."

Rachel pursed her lips and let out a small sigh, "I was just going to write you a list of everything I do, I thought that might be easier."

"Sure" Santana shrugged, she looked as if she was on the verge of saying something else but decided not to. She shut her mouth sharply and turned away from Rachel, walking away from the brunette, who was, to say the least, confused by the conversation. There was nothing she could do, so she just walked along the hallway and as she passed the jocks, she did nothing when the cool slap of slushie greeted her. It dripped in front of her eyes and the laughter of the jocks rang in her ears, but she just walked past them and into the bathroom.

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><p><em>Someday<em>, she thinks, _my __eyes __are __going __to __be __stained __permanently __blue._

And then she'll never be a star because who wants to hire a girl with blue where the white should be, whose own, and only, boyfriend can't even get it up for her?

She bursts into tears. Again.

Fat, unnaturally blue tears that leave blue tracks in her face. They burn sharply, but _dammit_, she can't stop.

Rachel catches her reflection in the mirror and chokes on a sob. She looks like a wreck, like a burn out, older than she had any right to look like.

Face tattooed in blue and smeared mascara black.

Of course, today would be the day she chose to wear make up. A desperate little excuse, for why Finn doesn't look at her anymore. Doesn't touch her.

Doesn't want her.

God, shouldn't she be used to the feeling? But it comes like a sucker punch to the gut from the one person she wasn't expecting it from. It's all just a little much right now.

The clean squeak of the door opening and Rachel flinches, turns away from whoever it is and braces herself.

Once upon a time, she would've prayed that it's a fellow gleek. Preferably Kurt. Instead, she hopes tiredly that, _please_,_ please_, it's at least not Santana.

"Rachel?"

A surprised voice. A girl in the doorway, holding a paperbag lunch.

"_Mercedes_?"

Rachel blinks at her ex-rival, her ex-friend and team mate, more stunned than she logically should be. Of course, the diva hadn't actually dropped off the face of the earth, but, god, it sure feels like it.

Rachel is kind of single-minded.

School is a blur of lectures, bright slushie colors and her burning cheeks as she tells the teacher she doesn't have a partner, yes, _again_.

Glee club is the one thing sharply in focus.

"Damn, girl, you look like a mess."

Mercedes shifts her weight uncertainly, hiding the bag behind her, uncomfortable, like she's not sure if she should offer help or walk away and pretend that she isn't seeing Rachel, stripped of her gold stars. Rachel's not sure either.

She opens her mouth to say something intelligent and witty and prove that she's _not_, she's _not __broken_. You would be lucky to hire her, _goddammit, _okay?

She hiccups instead.

They both jump at the sound, wide eyes locked on each other.

Then, a tiny giggle escapes from Mercedes, an honest-to-god real giggle, not mean and cruel with that sharp latino twist. Just laughing because the situation is tense and ridiculous and what else can they do?

It's high school.

Rachel wipes the snot and the tears and the ruined make up from her face, as the corners of her mouth tug up.

It's not really funny but what the hell. It's been awhile.

They stand like that a moment longer, two girls who understand each other just a little bit more than they want to. A decisive nod and Rachel pushes past, pausing, hands pressed against the door.

Mercedes doesn't ask, _what __happened_, doesn't say, _are __you __okay_ because they know that she's not.

Rachel ignores the paper lunch because, sometimes, pride is all you have.

But she pauses and half-turns, meeting Mercedes' eyes.

"You could come back."

The other girl shakes her head and turns but Rachel catches a flare of longing. Because, sometimes, pride isn't _enough_.

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><p>Mike stuffs his thick Chemistry book into the back of his locker and he wishes viciously that he never has to open it again and feels a light tap on his shoulder.<p>

He turns around with a bright, mostly real smile ready in place to greet Tina and blinks in surprise, smile slipping.

Finn is staring down at him. But only slightly because in case you haven't noticed, which honestly most people don't, _Mike__'__s __freaking __tall_.

Just another reason the 'short little Asian' jokes are really _not __funny_.

Finn shifts uncomfortably back and forth, looking at him expectantly. The awkward silence stretches onward. Mike wonders tiredly if Finn even knew his name before Glee.

Okay, maybe he's being unfair. Most people didn't.

To most people he's still:

"_The __Asian __glee __freak. __No, __no, __the __guy.__"_

Confucius said, bitterness is unbecoming. No wait, that's his mother.

"So…"

Finn rubs the back of his neck and lets the word trail away into nothing. He looks like someone just kicked a puppy. And the puppy told him to fuck off.

Sad and confused. The perfect Hudson combo.

"Um…"

Really, he should say something. Save them both the awkwardness. But that's the problem, isn't it? Mike never knows what to say. And if he does, he says it exactly wrong.

Confucius says, a young man should be a good son at home and sparing of speech. Definitely Confucius.

His father slams his hands on the table top and says, _goddamn __disappointment_.

"How do you wanna… you know? Do this."

Mike swallows a smile as Finn turns bright red, eyes widening as he realizes what that sounds like.

"Not that! I don't wanna do _that_. Not with you. Ew."

Finn shakes his head back and forth wildly and takes a huge step back, almost knocking over a terrified freshman who jumps out of the way. Sad, confused and potentially dangerous. Mike laughs silently at his own genius, his face blank. Really, his father would be proud. Or was that Confucius?

"Not that you're not- you know. Shit, that sounds really gay. I'm not gay! Not that I think it's a bad thing!"

Finn glances over his shoulder, as if expecting a pissed off Kurt to step forward from the crowd and bitch him out. Mike watches Finn's face flush deeper and deeper with the fascination of someone watching a train wreck.

Looks like he's not the only one who can't say the right thing.

The other boy opens his mouth and Mike holds up his hands to cut him off, unable to stop a smirk.

"Dude."

That's all he needs to say, thankfully, because Finn seems to get it. The taller boy slumps, so that they're actually the same height and shoots Mike a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

Mike blinks at him, confused.

Finn half-shrugs and grins brightly, looking like a little boy.

"Sometimes I just run my mouth and I know I should stop 'cause I'm just making it worse but I can't. It's like I forget how to shut my mouth off."

He punches Mike in the shoulder and slips back into the crowd, throwing a cheerful _bye_ over his shoulder.

Mike watches him go, bemused, rubbing his shoulder absently. He shuts his locker with a click and heads off to his next class, wondering what Finn had wanted in the first place.

He shakes his head, a small, completely real smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Maybe he'll even ask him about it, tomorrow.


End file.
